


Serve

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Mistress/Servent, Roleplay, Romance, Stricklake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Barbara comes home from work, only to find her boys have arranged a surprise for her. Strickler and Jim meet her at the door, call her 'Madam' and all around play it up. Jim serves up a fancy meal, while Strickler continues to wait on her hand and foot all evening. After Jim has excused himself Barbara gets a little more into the role and starts steering the game towards the lady having an affair with the Butler.





	Serve

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Tumblr user Merrypaws for this prompt! It was simply too delicious to pass up...

“Mr. Strickler…” 

He turns to her, and oh man, is that vest and crisp shirt and tie combo he put on for the occasion - this wonderful, out-of-the-blue occasion that she wants to endlessly hug both of her boys for - doing him _all_  sorts of favors, as does that softly sly smile he wears so well. “Yes, Madame Lake?” 

Oh God, but does that send a pleasant ripple down her back. She raises her wine glass - pinot noir, his choice and so fondly remembered - and wiggles it at him. “I think I could have a bit more…” 

He smoothly steps to her, all too ready to serve and continue this beautiful charade of waiting on her hand and foot, he the server and she the mistress…

_Mistress._  She can work with that. She can work the _hell_  out of it, in fact. Hopefully he won’t mind her definition of improve. 

And hopefully Jim is busy in the kitchen. 

The soft gurgle of the wine as it pours into the glass makes her feel so easily elegant, so relaxed and regal, and Barbara sighs as she sinks back into her chair, soft and full-hearted. She glances down at herself and gives a smile. She supposes she should be thankful she chose to wear her nice skirt and the cornflower blue sweater today instead of her scrubs today, what with the endless parades of meetings that happened and which are so much more exhausting than anything else the hospital can throw at her, but she wishes she was wearing something a bit more fancy. And backless. But at least the sweater hugs her curves nicely, and is a known favorite of Walter’s what with how it makes her eyes pop. 

She now slides them to the man beside her as he turns away to set the bottle on the counter. Or rather, to his trousers and how their neatly pressed lines all but highlights the cut of his figure in them. Barbara can’t help the smirk that sneaks onto her lips - in stone or in flesh, he has  _such_  a nice ass. 

Walter turns around, and while Barbara knows that he just caught her in the act of blatantly ogling him, she feels no shame. Indeed, the line of Walter’s smile seems to deepen, the not even the barest drop of composure lost. “Would Madame care for anything else?” 

_You and me on this table_. 

Barbara keeps it back behind her teeth. She’s got to be subtle about this. Disarming. Walter knows his way in a fight, that’s one thing she’s learned, but she thinks she can be the victor in this one if she plays her cards right. 

She sighs theatrically and waves her spoon at him. “This spoon is  _spotty._  I require it cleaned.” 

He manages to keep a snort down and instead inclines his head. “I shall see to it immediately,” he murmurs, taking the utensil and starting to move to the kitchen. 

“No no,” Barbara says coyly, holding up a stern finger. “I  _insist_  that you stand by me whilst I watch. You shan’t hide anything from me, you know. No skimping, Strickler.” 

“Mr. Strickler,” he returns, then winces. “Sorry, love–I mean, Madame Lake. Sheer habit formed from too many informal students.” 

Barbara snorts into her wine glass, and Walter smiles as he steps to the table and takes to polishing the offending spoon. His proximity allows her an even more detailed view of how…God, how  _yummy_  he looks, all crisp sleeves and pressed vest hugging his flat stomach and the line of his shoulders, his salt and pepper hair glinting in the candlelight provided, his green gaze glowing almost as much as their soft flames, his clever fingers so long and dexterous as he cleans the spoon in his hands–

Barbara bites her lip and hopes that the shifting in her seat she gives is at least subtle.  _Keep it together, girl._  

She starts slow, leaning back into her chair languidly. “How long have you been working for me, Mr. Strickler?” 

“Oh, I’ve lost count of the years, Madame Lake,” he returns nonchalantly. “It feels like ages.” 

She knows all too well that he actually  _has_  lived for ages, but she shan’t be distracted. “Enjoyable ages, I hope,” Barbara says, putting as much of a purr into the words as she can, before lifting her hand and placing it on his hipbone, the feel of it prominent even through the layers of clothing.  

There’s a slight stall to the movement of his hands at that, the merest stutter, before he continues with his work, his eyes fastened on his hands, his voice calm and composed. “Oh,  _very,_  Madame Lake.” 

The track of her hand is a slow and measured thing as it slides closer and closer to her prize. “I hope I haven’t been too much of a taskmaster, you know. I like to think we have a good relationship…” 

There’s a slight hitch to his throat, the merest little jump that has her biting down on a grin. “You are a delight to serve, Madame, never worry about that.” 

Oh good God, she’s going to go mad with power, what with how much she loves to hear him say  _Madame_. “And you’re a delight to  _watch_ , Mr. Strickler.” 

Her hand find the long sought prize, her fingers stroking soft before seizing, sure and strong.  _And **touch** –_

The spoon falls with a clatter as Walter let out a strangled yelp, his whole face flushed as he turned to face her.  _ **“Barbara–!”**_  

_“Madame Lake,”_  Barbara reminds him, turning in her chair to face him, his chest heaving as he gapes at her, watching her with wide eyes. There was the far off thought that he might have never had that cute little butt pinched before.  _Such a damn shame, it positively calls for it…_

She focuses herself, and lets herself recline in her seat, crossing her legs languidly, her skirt rucking up, her elbow prop up upon the back of the chair as she continues on in a purr. “I’m your  _mistress_ , aren’t I? You  _serve_  me, don’t you?”

_Oh please oh please oh please play along, please please please Walt–_

There’s a soft second of silence where she hears his swallow, low and thick, and then–

–and then he steps to her. “I serve you and only you,” he says. Hell, he near breathes it.  _“Madame Lake.”_  

He says it like it’s the most succulent morsel in his mouth, and Barbara feels a hot and hungry flash of victory before she tilts her head, pursing her lips at him. “Then ask me what I want, Mr. Strickler.” 

He takes another step to her, the look in his eyes something so hot and hungry Barbara would blush if she wasn’t feeling too thrilled to even care. “What  _do_  you want, Madame Lake?” 

She looks up at him through her lashes. _“You._  On your knees.” 

He takes the final step to her and does just that, the soft thud of him hitting the floor echoed by her core, sweet and throbbing and wanting more more more. 

She ignores it –  _for now_  – and crooks a finger at him. “Come here.”

He follows, and Barbara strokes up the satiny sheen of his tie before reaching his collar, letting her fingers pet at the nape of his neck. He shivers, his eyes already half closed, all too ready to surrender. God, but that he’s so  _eager_  for her control–!

She winds the tie around her hand and  _tugs_  and there’s the sound of a bitten back moan as Walter comes all the closer still, his hands coming up to rest on her thighs, the heat of his palms hot even through the fabric of her skirt.  _Good._  

God, if someone were to walk in on them–

_Oh God, **Jim.**_

She looks to the kitchen door, her heart hammering. “Is…are we going to be…is there any chance of us–?”

“My cohort this evening told me after dinner he was going to be training in Trollmarket,” Walter murmurs, his eyes watching her intently. “Provided that I take care of the dishes.”

He continues on, his voice a hot balm. “No one shall interrupt us,  _Madame_. I shall see to it myself.” 

He drops his eyes and drops the chastest kiss to her knee, and it’s like a flint to her senses, her heart and her breasts and her lips and her groin all suddenly  _aching_ , aflame–

He looks up at her, and if she thought the green of his eyes glowed before, they’re nothing to the scarlet smolder they hold now. His voice is soft and sly. “And you know how I  _adore_  obeying you, Madame Lake.” 

Barbara’s heart hammers for a different reason entirely now. “Then  _kiss_  me, Mr. Strickler.” 


End file.
